


Chrin

by HyourinmaruIce



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Omnics, Other, War, after omnic war, original creation - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 07:56:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7161407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HyourinmaruIce/pseuds/HyourinmaruIce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many omnics were created in the Omnic War. Omniums produced many kinds of brethren, and one survivor sits alone in an abandoned factory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chrin

**Author's Note:**

  * For [generalzero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/generalzero/gifts).



> So my buddy (Generalzero) posted their OC for Overwatch and I REALLY love the lore as well so I thought.... why the heck not? And tried my hand at making an original character.
> 
> If you think it's missing a tag, just hit me up in the comment section.

Many types of omnics were created during the war. Omniums mass produced and militarized every pre-existing robot known to man, even creating new ones that were more deadly than before. One such robot was Bastion, a large, armored omnic that could transform into a tank at will. 

However, they also created omnics that were engineers. Designers, creators, the ones that fed in blue-prints to machines and watched the omniums spit out 3D models. They were tinkerers, jumping between different varieties of omnics and seeing what could be improved. Of course, they never left the omniums so it was hard to say how many existed.

After the war ended, most were crushed beneath the feet of humans soldiers. They were gentle things, giving up strength in return for computer power. The few that survived died in various other ways: stuck in machinery, falling off ledges, the Australian Liberation Front wiped out every omnic left in the outbacks, and a few were found/killed by humans randomly stumbling upon them (those were the unlucky ones).

Chrin (k-rin) was the only survivor for their omnium. They didn’t mind much, silence was helpful when creating. Of course, it was also helpful to bounce ideas off other omnics; Bastions weren’t talkative, but they were good listeners. Just one Bastion could be alright company. Sighing with boredom, Chrin kicked out their legs and thumped their heels against the steel ledge. The sketch that rested in their palm was another bust, a poorly crafted design that would never have made the assembly line.

They ripped it out of their sketchbook and tossed it over their shoulder. Time to try again.

The next design wasn’t much better, nor the next. It had been some time since Chrin enjoyed one of their designs that they began to doubt they would ever create anything new.

A sound rippled throughout the empty space, bouncing of cold machinery that hadn’t moved since Chrin had just rolled off the assembly line. Back then, there had been many omnics like them. They’d taught Chrin almost everything they knew. Except, that is, for the creative touch they put into every design. 

Another sound, this time closer to to Chrins position. They jerked away from the ledge, rolling their feet underneath them and bouncing up until they were stretched to their max height (a whole 4 feet). The sound repeated, and Chrin chittered to themselves in a low tone. It wasn’t loud enough to echo but it had been known to scare away rats of a larger variety. 

However, this time, when the sound repeated the origin point was much closer. Chrin chittered again, out of fear rather than strategy. There weren’t very many places to hide, and all the good ones were halfway across the factory.

This time the sound’s repetition was sharp, just under the catwalk were Chrin stood.

Fear was something few omnics ever experienced, but the engineers and creators had too much computing power for their own good. Chrin felt the mistakes of the omniums creative ideas weighing down their feet. It made their arms ache and their jaw clench. Fingers twitched, and Chrin began to back away. Without thinking about where they were, they continued until they felt their feet slip. The metal wasn’t meant to be slick, but dust had clung to the catwalk and robotic feet didn’t create traction.

Their back hit the railing. A fall from this height would break them apart, and the sound repeated.

They went over the railing, but not before they heard a voice, “Oh hello.”

The catwalk stood 75 feet above the factory floor, tall enough that looking down gave Chrin chills. Chills were amazing to Chrin, it wasn’t something unique and odd to experience. A break in the normally dull life of being an engineer.

Today, it was a mark of how fragile Chrin felt. Until, that is, soft arms wrapped around their body and they were on the catwalk once more.

“Just in time.”

Chrin was deposited on the floor with a slight bump, enough to almost knock them off their feet. Again, the soft arms touched. They brushed gently against the outer portion of Chrin’s body, the only part that had the sense of touch installed into the circuits. The gently touch was gone as soon as it began. Chrin turned and almost jumped back at the sight of a human. 

Or were they? A machine churned in the being’s core, electricity bolted and zapped within the small viewing port. Goggles shielded eyes, guns were holstered, and their hands rested on their hips. They looked human, but they also looked robotic.

“What is your identity?” Chrin felt their voice grate against the coils that kept their neck in place. Their voice box was chipped, and the parts to produce the metallic sounds were slow from not enough use.

The being in front of them blinked from behind their googles, “Identity? Do you mean my name?”

Name… Chrin nodded, that sounded like the human word.

“Call me Tracer! Who might you be then?” 

Chrin recalled their serial number, should they say that? Should they say what the other engineers had called them?

“Would you like my serial number or the name of my model?”

Tracer laughed. It was bright, and the dust stirred beneath her feet, “Just your name, love.”

“Chrin.” They took a step back from the being.

In return, she extended her hands and shook them in front of Chrin, “Oh no, sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. Don’t know what I did, but not to worry! I’m not here to hurt you.”

The grunt that rumbled through Chrin’s chest was a remnant of old software, it was involuntary and had the effect of making the being’s eyes blink once more, “Are you an omnic or a human?”

Tracer blinked again, then smiled. She rapped a knuckled against the device still churning away in her core, “I’m human, this is just to anchor me in time. Long story.”

Chrin took another step back and the paper thrown earlier crunched beneath their feet. Tracer’s entire body seemed to perk up, and she bolted forward to snatch it up. No one had ever moved that fast in Chrin’s life, it was enough that they fell backwards onto their butt. There was a brief look of concern from Tracer, an offer up, and an eagerness about the human that left Chrin curious.

“D’jou draw this?” The paper was slowly lowered until Chrin could see their failed creation.

“Yes, another failure.”

“Failure?! This looks brilliant!” Tracer’s jaw seemed to stretch to accommodate the smile on her face. No one had ever smiled that wide in front of Chrin.

“What makes you say that?” Chrin asked.

Tracer winked, “Just look at it, doesn’t it look like the perfect omnic to be a chef?”

“A chef.” Chrin said.

More laughter erupted from Tracer, “Yeah! A chef. I’d like to see an omnic chef. Bet they’d make a right good one.”

Sometimes, Chrin had to truly wonder about humanity. The sound came again. It was directly beneath the catwalk, and it banged around the machinery until only the echo was left. Tracer leaned over towards the railing and looked down, “Metal mice? Odd.”

“That’s what it is? They’re usually not on this side of the factory.” Chrin didn’t go near the railing, just stood in the center of the catwalk and waited. What else could they do?

Tracer’s smile softened, and she gently folded the paper and partially knelt down to be on Chrin’s level, “Would you like to come with me? Bit big for one person.”

Why not?

***

Tracer whisked Chrin away to a building that reminded them of the old storage units hidden in the back of the factory. It was a little broken, the floor shattered in some places, but it was nice. Cozy even. Then, a giant being slammed down in front of them.

“You should have told me BEFORE marching them into my workshop.” The thing spoke. Chrin chittered nervously.

Tracer put both hands on her hips, “Winston, love, at least say hello.” 

The thing grunts, “Hello…” It looks to Tracer, who rolls her eyes.

“Chrin.”

“Hello Chrin, my names Winston. Before you ask, I’m a gorilla. I talk. Yes, amazing.” A gorilla.

Chrin squared their shoulders and tilted their head to assess the situation. This gorilla appeared half omnic. There was nothing to fear, “How am I to address you?”

“Informally, he’s Winston. Formally… well no one uses formalities in Overwatch.” Tracer laughed from behind Chrin, and they jumped in response.

That started Chrin’s association with Overwatch. It was after the recall, and, as Chrin learned, illegal activity. So, in the back of their software so Winston wouldn’t notice (he noticed everything, it was unexpected), they put in an emergency protocol to short circuit if they were ever captured. Which was presented as a problem, by Winston, since Chrin now knew of things they were keeping secret.

Tracer noticed the change in Chrin, “You seem happier here. Wanna join us?”

An argument ensued between Tracer and Winston, mostly growling and smiling.

So Chrin began to explore their abilities. Often, it was building miniature models of the many drawings they had stocked up. All were loved by Tracer; some were loved by Winston. It got to the point that they could build a prototype within seconds. Of course, the prototype was just that – a prototype that sometimes self-destructed. Those days left Tracer laughing and Winston growling at them to be more careful.

Then someone attacked. It was a weird explosion, follow by Tracer stepping in front of them to receive the majority of the blast. Chrin was fragile, but Tracer was also weak when it came to constitution. Without thinking, Chrin threw their protjjjjjjjjotype in front of Tracer and it both absorbed the explosion… and blew it back in the direction it came.

That was good, it was meant to be an explosive bot.

Tracer looked at them afterwards and pretended to wipe sweat from her brow, before winking, “Thanks, love.”

“Anytime.”

Then Tracer gave them an odd look, so they chittered nervously. “You know, if you ever want to join us on a mission… I’ll bring you.”

“That sounds fun.”  
_______________________________________________________________________________

 

So, my OC, Chrin is a support model. Quick, small, and fast, they dip and dodge through battle to get to their friends. They can be found sending mini bots into battle and protecting people from direct assaults. Unfortunately, their bots have the tendency to explode after their done, but they direct their blast towards the enemy. 

Their ultimate involves creating a larger protoype that protects all around it and creates an explosive shockwave that knocks all enemies back. Any enemy near the blast is either very damaged or dead. Tracer can throw Chrin up to higher places so they can toss bots down from above.

Mostly, Chrin communicates by chittering in battle due to the high-stress situation. This chittering is mostly understood by those on Chrin’s team.

However, Chrin is very fragile and tends to avoid battle. They get along with all Overwatch characters, but generally only talk to: Winston, Tracer, Lucio (the two have bonded somewhat since Chrin has come to enjoy music), Mei, Zarya, Torbjorn, Bastion, and Zenyatta.

They look like a robot that has a mouth extending four directions (as in, when it opens it opens outward). When not in battle, they work on new prototypes and chat with Winston and Tracer.


End file.
